The life of my grandfather was one of discontent. An often grumpy man, his days were filled with the sound of his own mumbled complaints muffled only by the mind-numbing applause of The Wheel of Fortune. It seemed there was little that pleased him.
He smoked brown cigarettes, long and thin and drank all his life until he realized he was an alcoholic and decided to quit. He became extremely active in AA and had a few years of sobriety before his body betrayed him, worn down from years of alcohol abuse.
He died in June of 1993. I was 16.
Even in the midst of his cloudy unhappiness, I believe Grandpa enjoyed his grandchildren. Every now and then, Grandpa picked us up from school in his faded yellow car. My sister and I sat on the cracked vinyl, hot in the back seat and made awkward conversation with him, painfully aware of the generations that separated us. Upon arriving at his house, Grandpa would lead us into the kitchen, push the permanent piles of mail and newspapers aside and offer us a snack: two hard cookies, brown on one side, yellow on the other with white cream in the middle. He would then burn the popcorn and season it with Krazy Mixed-Up Salt, served up in plastic bowls.
It seemed to me that he tried hard to make us feel comfortable. I felt guilty for wishing he would just give us a Popsicle or a cupcake. So I ate, compelled to action by an internal sense of compassion and pity that I didn’t understand.
Surprisingly, Grandpa was one person who encouraged me in my writing. Maybe underneath the alcohol and layers of hurt and damaged relationships, he was a writer himself. I don’t know that to be true, but it could have been, I suppose.
For my birthday, he gave me two magazines on creative writing. I still have them somewhere. He also cut an article from the local paper about a girl my age who had won $25 in a writing contest. I assumed he thought I could do something like that. He folded it carefully and sent it in the mail, writing in capital letters: Emily, It’s not what it says, although that’s important. It’s the writing. Grandpa.
I still have that, too.
I don’t know much about the demons that haunted my Grandpa all those years. I don’t know what caused him to make decisions that would bring pain and heartache into the lives of those he was called to protect. The way I see it, he didn’t know Jesus, didn’t cherish his wife, and never learned how to show affection. Had he made different choices, his legacy could have been beautiful and life-giving. But in the midst of his confused priorities, he chose to see me, even if only in part. He noticed me even though noticing people did not come naturally for him. He appreciated my writing and encouraged me to do it often and to do it well.
Is encouragement coming from an unlikely voice in your life? Sometimes its hard to see the good when the bad hurts so much. But it is sweet to realize that the Lord uses all types of people in all kinds of ways to inspire courage within us.
What was once so black-&-white in our minds, becomes much more inter-mingled as wisdom and perspective give it clarity – your grandpa being a perfect example. Glad you’ve found a way to cherish the “good” and draw boundaries around the “bad” – - sometimes being one and the same …
This thing called ‘humanity’ is oh so dynamic!!
i feel like i’m right there in the kitchen with you choking down brown and white cookies.
he was right.
What a beatiful and well-written post. I think your Grandpa would be proud.
I love reading your blog… I’ve been visiting for a couple weeks and just wanted you to know that I love how you write.
What a beautiful post! It is sometimes hard to see underneath a persons layers but I have always thought that underneath it all even the toughest of us have a soft spot. We all find certain things and certain people who get into our hearts and it sounds like you were that for your grandfather. Thank you for sharing this – it has made me reflect on a person in my life who fits this description. Your writing is so descriptive – love it!
People are so complex…everyone has their various shades of light and dark. I love how you can see the shades of light in a man who had so much darkness in his life!
Thank you for sharing this story!!
this is beautiful! I am so glad you can see the good in a less than easy at times relationship. That makes me want to look past the hurtful words I remember from my great-grandmother and look for the good. Thank you. Kelly
The perspective you’ve gained looking back on your past as an adult is a God-given gift, no doubt. You inspire me to look back and be thankful. Great post, Emily.
Wow, Emily.
Your writing is beautifully powerful. Your grandpa saw that in you even when you were just a child.
His troubles were a part of his human-ness. We are all sort of a disappointment…well, let me say that we, too, can disappoint. The lessons I can learn from your story are to remember that Jesus is the only One who doesn’t disappoint. And that even a child can be strongly influenced by even a ‘small’ act of acknowledgment.
Those little moments were, I believe, his way to tell you that he loved you and that he was proud of you.
I mean, I don’t know you or him, obviously, but God is using you. And even your grandfather.
Praise God…from whom all blessings flow. That even an imperfect man can impact a granddaughter and strangers across the country.
Thank you for sharing this unexpected story.
~Karin
*faint* I have kinda sorta been stalking you… I think I commented once on your fire-place before I got my blog… You’re famous by proxy, you know *grin* I heart your sister, she’s hillarious… but you? You make my heart smile. And I think I like that a whole lot better.
Thanks for dropping by. I hope to see you again!
What a beautiful post, Emily! I think it’s precious that even at your young age, your grandpa saw the writer in you.
i never knew this.
i am so glad that you keep things.
bananas, he gave us bananas too.
WOW! this is a powerful post! I love the way you chose to focus your grandpa’s kindness and his love for you, instead of being bitter about his poor choices. What a wonderful, wonderful point of view you keep!
A powerful word of witness that breathes with life from the grave. Not just for you, but for all of us who dream dreams and who foster those dreams in others.
Never underestimate the power of the spoken word. It can be life and healing to those in need. I’ve never been afraid of my voice (sometimes to a fault), but these days, God is shaping my tongue for blessing. For the giving and imparting of life to my family, to my friends, and to my community.
How grateful I am for people like your grandfather who took the time to move past his “current” and extend a blessing for your “future.”
Again, a powerful few words that witness far beyond the moment they were first spoken and written.
That’s legacy. That’s heritage. That’s God taking a little difficult and working it all for his good.
Praise Him.
peace~elaine
what a beautiful post – in content and style! you’ve been given a gift friend – keep using it!
I think your grandpa was very right to encourage you in your writing. He saw what all of us so clearly see in this post- you are a gifted writer!
I like to read stories like this that find some redeeming quality in those who seem misguided in life. I had an aunt who was an alcoholic (and other relatives too!) and I’ll never forget the day she pressed a $100 bill into my hand and told me to use it for my education. When I protested she said, “No, honey, take it. If I keep it I’ll just waste it on booze. You take it and make something of your life.”
Thanks for sharing such a personal part of your life.
Thanks for sharing that Emily – it made me think too. I guess my life is rather surrounded by unlikely voices…but you’ve reminded me today that they can be just as encouraging as the faithful ones.
Our Father has given you a special gift – both in how you write and what you say!
In Him
Loved this post! Keep writing:) You are an inspiration!
you just made me cry…in the middle of the day. again.
Your post very much touched me as my Daddy was an alcoholic. There was so much crap my Dad put us through. Funny thing happened when the Lord worked forgiveness toward my Dad into my heart…I mostly remember and cherish the good stuff. You’ve inspired me. I hope you don’t mind if I copy you and honor my Daddy in the same way on my blog.
So well written. You can absolutely bring a character to”life” with your words!
Ohhhhhhh my! Did I actually say cr_p in my previous comment?!
This was such a beautiful post Emily. Somehow I see you in tears writing it–wishing things had been a little different for those involved, and yet accepting it all for what it was and what you could take from it. Then again….maybe I’m reading too into it and you were really just there typing it between Friends episodes while eating Cocoa Puffs
. Either way—thanks so much for this. I love when someone can touch my heart through their memories.
Very Touching!
He sounds just like my dad, but at times could say and do some amazing things…I’m sure you treasure that little note he wrote! What a wonderful post! PS I came over from the Nester!
What a beautiful piece of writing…what a beautiful display of your heart. Thank you for sharing it.
I found you from another blog.
I love what you wrote on your profile….
It’s nice to meet you!
Julie
i cried reading this. at 2am. with, thanks to the carrots, a slowly dissolving headache.
you are my unlikely voice of encouragement in this night-turning-to-day moment.
miss you bim.
This is beautiful. It seems that your Grandpa was so proud of you! Thanks for sharing.
Is it weird that the clipping with your grandpa’s note made tears well up in my eyes? Maybe I’ll always think about my own grandma when people talk about their grandparents, about how much I miss her. I don’t know.
But he died when you were 16, and had still given you something so big: his hope and faith in you.